What Stiles Did
by Kenxi
Summary: Stiles doesn't know what to think or feel after Donovan as he drives home. He can't even bring himself to tell Scott. After what he did, what is he supposed to do now? Set during and after 5x05.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Sorry if anyone was following other stories and disappointed in this new, random one. I just had to do it! Episode five was seriously the greatest acting from Dylan since season 3B. And the whole thing was just insane. So here is a little of what was going on in Stiles' head as he left the school to drive home. Enjoy! Sorry if it feels choppy. I think Stiles' mind was all over the place, so it felt alright to do.

And since I always forget,

I do not own Teen Wolf, sadly.

 **-Kenxi**

"Breathe, Stiles. Come on, breathe."

Stiles couldn't help it as he spoke to himself through his dangerously uneven breathing, his entire core trembling with this… whatever this was. Guilt? Fear? Post-Traumatic Stress? The blood on his hands was all too much like the nightmares from when he was possessed, too many feelings to process in the middle of this hurricane of thoughts racing through his head.

What happened to Donovan? It was Stiles' fault, right? He sent the beams crashing down on him. He left him there to die…. But he was going to die anyway, right? It wasn't all his fault. Time was the issue. He called the cops, didn't he? That counted for something. That definitely counted. But was Donovan even dead? Had he somehow survived by some insane miracle or curse? Stiles didn't even know what it was, what those teeth were which had broken into his skin like knives….

Stiles unconsciously rubbed his shoulder with an unsteady hand, but his entire body was far too numb to feel anything. Numb. Was he going into shock? Or was this just the panic attack, right below the surface? He had to solve this. Stiles had to solve this.

His foot stiffened against the gas pedal as he tried to steady his breaths. "Breathebreathebreathe." But that just caused his throat to tighten more, making it difficult to even get air into his lungs. It reminded him of when Scott was still human with his lousy asthma. His eyes widened in even more panic.

"Scott," he gasped out in horror, the name hardly audible at all.

Since when had Scott not been the first person Stiles turned to in a crisis? The first person he thought of for help or comfort? When had their friendship changed to a point where Stiles felt he could only rely on himself to fix everything? The small, shaky gasps were coming in faster now as Stiles gripped the wheel tight. Because the real question wasn't all that difficult to ask.

When did Stiles change?

He pressed his lips firmly together, trying to even out his breathing by taking in air through his nose while he drove. The night was dark, even with the bright moon and his yellow headlights to light it. Even with all of the access to illumination, the darkness was still overwhelming, overpowering and tangible. Just like when he had lost his mind and body to the Nogitsune. Just like when he had changed.

The paranoia, stress, anxiety—it had been bad before, but ever since the real battle of his life, all of that had just progressed. And it was eating him alive in his dreams, in the shadows, in the case files his dad brought home and the policemen on the scanner he kept in his room and in his Jeep. Stiles felt that if he could just grasp onto anything that brought him those painful feelings, then he could fix them. He could fix himself.

But he'd been bringing Scott into his crazy head for a while now, and no matter if Stiles was right or wrong, the rift between the two brothers widened. Perhaps in this feverish moment Stiles was over thinking everything, but he could still see it. The painful, slowly weakening bond. Scott was so focused on everything that he couldn't even see anything. Stiles sought out the small things. The details. And Scott...just didn't understand him anymore. Scott couldn't understand him.

Stiles took in a slow-albeit still irregular-breath for the first time in the last twenty minutes. He hadn't been this honest with himself in years. It was terrifying, especially as his reality came crushing down on him, on his lungs.

He couldn't tell Scott.

Not yet, anyway. For something that was once instinctive, Stiles now couldn't even imagine telling his best friend that he had…killed someone. What would he tell him anyway? Stiles didn't even know what had happened! He was attacked. He saw his way of survival up above…. That was it, right? He hadn't killed anyone, it was an accident, right? Just a horrible accident that Scott might blame him for throughout eternity. He could lose his best friend. And the idea of losing Scott... Stiles shook his head quickly to drown out the thought. How could he expect his friends to trust him when he couldn't even trust himself?

The dreams had come back since the Nogitsune. For a while they had left, but now they haunted him once more. Images of people dying, of setting traps and twisting a sword into his best friend. What if Stiles really was losing his mind? No tricks, just the plain, useless Stiles Stilinski, finally letting the stress of his life affect him?

No one was on the streets, but Stiles couldn't keep his breathing controlled enough, and he had just enough sanity to not want to crash by passing out while driving or just getting pulled over at all. He didn't need any questions asked right now. Besides, his Jeep was already hanging on just barely. He hit the brake hard as soon as he was off the road and killed the engine and the lights, swallowed by the familiar darkness.

A sob escaped his dry lips, a hand coming up to cover it, even as it sounded in the utter silence.

What did he do?

Stiles threw his head back against the seat once, then again and again, as if that would bring some genius thought to his mind. As if any sane thought would come. Because his tether to sanity was barely hanging in. Just like his Jeep.

He had killed someone.

A teenager.

Now Stiles wasn't having any trouble getting air in, but instead he was getting too much as he began to hyperventilate, the quick gasps shaking him even more.

Why couldn't he control himself? Why couldn't he be more like Scott? So sure of himself, so self-righteous and good. What was Stiles compared to him, anyway? A human. The only real human in the pack who happened to get bad anxiety and every now and again panic attacks with no self-control or heroic parts of him. Why couldn't he be a hero like the others? Heck, he couldn't even listen to Lydia who told him once to _breathe_ , then to hold his breath….

Thrown off by the memory, Stiles shut his mouth like an obedient dog. Immediately he felt as though he were suffocating, but he refused to let air in. Most panic attacks weren't about not getting enough air, but getting too much, causing light headedness. That's what he had been told once. That, and to force his mind to believe that there was no reason to panic. That he wasn't in danger, no need to waste energy. _You aren't in danger_ , Stiles pushed the thought into his mind. Everything was peachy. Really. Great girlfriend, friends, best friend, dad, Melissa. He was alright. Everything was alright.

His heartbeat slowed with the convincing lies, and Stiles sucked in a full, even breath for the first time since his attack. He had to figure this out. He had to. Stiles always figured it out, right? This wasn't the first problem he'd ever faced. Not at all. He'd spent years facing problems, swallowing the panic. He could do it again. Just like he always had. He could move forward, keep going, keep making jokes, keep helping a best friend...who couldn't even see how frightened he really was.

Who didn't even know the truth.

Stiles punched the wheel as hard as he could with a yell on his lips.

His fingers were still tingling from his recent panic, so he hardly felt the pain and ran his hands through his dark hair, over his shoulders, and finally clasped them tightly together. If it wasn't so dark, he would have seen how white his fingers were. His lower lip trembled and tears threatened to spill.

"I'm so sorry, Scott," came the broken whisper of a boy who was not yet broken.

And he let himself cry.

 **A/N:** I was thinking about making this a two-shot, so please let me know in the reviews if you'd like to read a little bit more. I'd get it up before next week's episode. Thank you for reading! Leave a review if you can. Won't take too much time, thanks!

Post Script: And I do not recommend driving whilst in an emotional state. Just FYI.

 **-Kenxi**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you to those who reviewed. Super awesome. :D And to anyone else who would like to, I always go and read stories of those who have reviewed or notified me in anyway. I also updated the previous chapter if anyone would like to check it out. And so without further ado, here is the extra chapter I promised. It's not really what I expected to come out, but for some reason it seemed right. And there is a lot of thinkingnesses here, but calmer than the first chapter. I hope ya'll like it! Oh, and I decided to change the title. Hope that's okay.

This takes place a few hours after the events of the last episode.

- **Kenxi**

Stiles woke up screaming.

He could neither feel the screams nor hear them. All he could do was focus on getting all of the blood off of his hands.

The desperate yells were still being torn from his throat like a whip tearing flesh while he quickly, feverishly attempted to scrub off the sticky blood from his hands with only his bloody hands to do so.

There was so much blood.

Stiles suddenly noticed someone in front of him. Donovan. In his bedroom. He froze for a second in terror before scrambling backwards and slamming himself harshly against his headboard—as if he could get away from it, away from the dead stare of Donovan's lifeless, dark eyes in front of him. He was dead. Stiles had killed him.

Stiles had _killed_ him.

And the dark red fluid all over his hands was just proving him right.

"Stiles! Snap out of it!"

Hands grabbed his t-shirt firmly, shaking him. Donovan? He was alive? No. No, it wasn't possible. Stiles killed him. He killed him. Distantly he was aware of his rough breathing, so this had to be real, right? No, wait, this wasn't real, it wasn't real.

To double check for truth, Stiles glanced down at his stained hands to count his fingers, but he was shaking so badly, his body wracked with sobs, that he couldn't even get to three.

A sharp sting on his left cheek.

The loud cries ceased in response, and Stiles brought his head up immediately, his wide eyes full of panic and fear and guilt. Had someone slapped him? Donovan? He focused his blurry vision to see a scared, familiar face staring back at him.

But it wasn't Donovan, who had disappeared. It wasn't even his dad who was out working. Or Scott who was at the animal clinic with Kira.

" _Liam_?" Stiles gasped out.

The young werewolf was trembling ever so slightly, not quite meeting Stiles' eyes. Stiles didn't even know what to say. What could he say? Liam had never seen Stiles like this. He wasn't there when Allison had still been around and Stiles had been slowly losing his mind. Despite everything he had been through, Stiles had never before felt more vulnerable in his life than at this very moment. A moment where the only person around was someone who didn't really know him at all.

Stiles' face was wet with tears, his eyes probably red and bloodshot. It had only been a few hours since they'd gotten back from Eichen. He was sitting up in his bed, his back still pressed up against the headboard. He came quickly aware of the burning ache in his shoulder from ramming backwards and having his muscles so taut.

Slowly he tried to relax himself, calm his breathing and swipe a hand over his face. What was Liam thinking? That he was insane? Maybe. A touch of panic bubbled up inside him, but, just as quickly, it fell away when he looked up at the werewolf again. The kid was probably more scared than he was. At least Stiles was familiar with his own behaviors.

Liam was staring at the ground before he jerkily ran a hand through his hair while pacing a little on the floor. When he spoke, it was really fast. "Um, I was on my way to the clinic to talk to Scott about what happened tonight. No one would tell me anything, and Scott won't leave Kira while Deaton tries to figure out what happened, which I still don't know because I wasn't there, which you obviously already knew."

The kid put a hand to his head, looking antsy like he'd been caught stealing. Stiles didn't even know what to say. Honestly, he had never seen Liam like this. Nervous and probably frightened and unsure. After a slightly awkward silence, Liam piped up again. For some reason, he reminded Stiles of a squirrel looking for nuts. Or in this case, a way out of the uncomfortable situation.

"I could, ah, sense your distress from a block away. It was like you were being attacked, life and death situation. I got here right as you started screaming, but there was no one here and you wouldn't wake up, even though your eyes were opened. Your heart was beating so fast that I was afraid it would stop… and so I slapped you. I think you were having a night terror. You were saying something about Donovan? I don't know, I'm sorry." Liam turned away from Stiles like he was embarrassed to have seen him like that.

A night terror? Stiles had momentarily forgotten about it in his alarm, but now…all of the blood which Liam should have noticed… Stiles looked down at his hands once more, the recent panic having died down for some reason since Liam got his attention.

There was no blood. None at all.

His skin was red from trying to scrape it off, but that was it. Donovan wasn't dead right in front of him, and there was no blood on his hands. It had just been a dream. A horrid, awful dream that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. Well, if the Nogitsune ones weren't already doing the job.

Stiles shuddered.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Stiles told Liam carefully. His voice sounded hoarse from screaming. "The last few nights have been crazy, and I guess sleeping wasn't really the greatest idea for someone like me." It was supposed to be somewhat of a mirthless joke, to ease tension, but Liam whipped around, his eyes even wider with uncertainty.

"Someone like you?" Liam's voice sounded small. "Do you get nightmares like this a lot? Anxiety attacks? It seemed like you were having a hard time breathing. Before."

"Well, I usually consider them panic attacks, but yeah. Sometimes, I guess. When I'm under a lot of stress." Why was Stiles being honest with him? He couldn't remember telling the kid anything about anything before, well, willingly, anyway. Was it because of how vulnerable after the nightmare he still was? Or was it the genuine concern and curiosity in Liam's eyes? It was…unfamiliar. Talking about his personal life. And Stiles had hardly even said anything.

Liam frowned. "You're always stressed."

"More stressed than usual?"

"Was that a question?"

"Maybe?"

Now Liam just sighed. The initial alarm in his body movements and expressions had dissipated some, and now he was so focused on Stiles that it made the latter almost self-conscious with all the attention. It kind of reminded him of Lydia when she saw right through his jokes. It made him more nervous and uncomfortable, remembering how he'd held her against him as the Dread Doctors broke into Eichen while they hid. She was wearing the perfume he'd gotten her last Christmas. Stiles almost grinned. But that would have been awkward, so he didn't.

Finally came the question. "Does Scott know?" Liam asked. His eyes looked straight into Stiles', and Stiles knew he was listening to his heart beat. Stupid wolf powers.

Did Scott know? Sure. He knew that about a year ago it was bad. However, Stiles hadn't said anything recently, but his anxiety lately had been more than obvious to anyone, so maybe. Still, Stiles lacked in mentioning any slight panic attacks he had, nightmares, oh, and of course accidently killing someone. Yeah, that hadn't exactly come up in a conversation yet.

Stiles hoped that Liam didn't catch the painful jump of his heart.

As open as he'd been thus far, however, Stiles didn't really feel like just handing out the truth. Maybe a little bending of it. "Scott McCall is my best friend," said Stiles, "and has known me since we were toddlers. What do you think?"

Liam pursed his lips but didn't hesitate as he said, "I think Scott McCall has a lot on his mind right now other than his best friend." Liam only broke contact for a split second. Well done, brash, young werewolf, Stiles thought.

He almost snorted. "Yeah, he does." Then, more seriously, Stiles brought up his gaze to meet Liam's almost innocent eyes. "And so he doesn't need any more on his plate. Especially things that I can handle myself." Was he telling himself that, or Liam? Stiles was afraid of the answer.

There was a pause. Liam stepped closer to Stiles, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Stiles could feel the raw pain of what he had done just under his calm façade. He tightened his jaw and swallowed under Liam's searching stare.

"Something happened to you, didn't it. Something bad."

It wasn't a question.

And Stiles didn't respond, except with his downcast eyes. Was he really that transparent? Or was it just obvious because Liam was actually looking?

"Well you don't need to tell Scott." Liam folded his arms, and Stiles looked up, frowning. "You can tell me. Whatever it is."

His lips parted a little in mild surprise at Liam's boldness and confidence. Just minutes before he had been shaking and wouldn't even look Stiles in the eye. Now he stood tall while Stiles still sat up in his bed, the kid ready for anything.

Stiles wished he could do that.

Finally, after a moment of strong eye contact, Stiles sighed and shook his head. Despite the readiness in Liam's eyes and form, that young innocence was still there. Even though the kid had seen so much, even though he was hardly a kid, Stiles didn't want to be the one to take away even more of that blissful ignorance. And he knew what that was like. So many times in his life, Stiles had felt that he had finally lost that blessing of youth. When his mother died. When Scott became a werewolf. When he had negotiated with Peter Hale for Lydia's life. So many moments, Stiles would think, "I am no longer innocent. Now I can handle things." And then something else would happen.

It wasn't really until the darkness of the Nemeton hit him, when he eventually lost himself to the Nogitsune that he finally did face reality. That one always had some sort of innocence to them. That it was slowly lost the more those experiences and trials and knowledge crossed paths with life. There wasn't one moment where it broke completely, but it was something that slowly fell apart like a rock being eroded.

And Stiles couldn't take more of that from him than he had to.

Which meant he couldn't tell Liam, either.

The teenager nodded in understanding, to Stiles' surprise. He thought that the issue would be pressed further. It made Stiles wonder how many secrets that boy had kept in his life, how much he really knew.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered. Without his wolf hearing, Liam probably would have missed it.

"No, I get it. I do. I know everyone thinks that I'm someone who needs to be protected, but I just hope you know that you don't need to protect me. I can handle it." There was a familiar fire in Liam's eyes. Stiles softly smiled, a tinge of sadness frosting it.

"That's what I said once, too." The words hardly even formed so that Liam would miss them. Wolf powers or not.

Maybe Stiles and Liam were more alike than he once thought.

"Well," Liam said as he walked toward the window, his eyes more thoughtful and sincere, "I understand if you can't tell me or Scott, but I think that maybe you should tell someone what happened. Tell someone the truth."

Stiles rubbed his forehead. "Yeah? Who?"

Liam slid both legs out the window. He glanced at the drawing of a tree, the Nemeton, by Stiles' bed. That sly dog smiled crookedly. "Someone you trust with your life." And with that he jumped out the window and into the dark.

Stiles stared at the window for a second, considering all that he and Liam had spoken about. Then he turned his attention to the drawing.

He could still remember Lydia drawing that tree. Still remember her telling him that she wasn't psychic and his reply that she was _something_.

He remembered his panic attack where she had kissed him so he'd hold his breath to stop it. When later she'd been his anchor for when he, Scott, and Allison had sacrificed themselves to save their parents. He'd trusted her with his life then, so maybe, as Liam said, he could trust her now. Trust her with the truth. And then maybe, _maybe_ , he could piece himself back together again and mend all that was broken. He could fix his relationship with Scott.

Stiles picked up his phone and pressed the number two speed dial for Lydia Martin. And, even though the fear and guilt still lingered, Stiles couldn't help but notice that his fingers were finally steady. Things could be good again.

 _Regression to the mean_.

Well, at least for a little while.

 **A/N:** And there you have it! I've never written Liam before, so I thought I'd give him a shot. I hope it was alright. I could probably write more if enough people asked me to, but for now I am comfortable here. Please review! I can't wait for next week's episode! Is the death of Donovan what will really set the rift between Scott and Stiles, or is there more to it? Sneaky Jeff. Let me know what you think, thanks!

 **-Kenxi**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** As soon as I finished the last chapter I knew I'd have to write another one. Last one, though, I swear. I hope this is satisfactory for ya'll as it is for me, even if I would have hoped for some certain characters to have joined this short story. Way longer of a chapter than I intended, sorry. But please enjoy! And leave a review, no matter how short, it counts.

 **-Kenxi**

He let the phone ring once, then twice, the sound echoing in his ears.

It was on the third ring that he felt the steadiness leave him, and he felt the phone slide out of his trembling hand and onto the floor.

His senses had dimmed some, so the sound of the phone hitting the ground was dull and distant. Surreal.

Almost as if he was in a trance, Stiles felt his legs moving forward, out of his bedroom. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew that he had to go somewhere before his thoughts and emotions took total control of his brain and actions.

It wasn't panic which overwhelmed his mind, however; it was anguish. She would help him, yes, but she would also feel the weight of his burden, carrying it like it was her own. She would mourn with him and tell him it wasn't his fault. She would give him logic and statistics that Stiles _already knew_ and would make him feel better, even as her empathy crushed her.

She had almost been killed. Sure, she had healed. But she had almost been _killed_. Stiles could have sworn his heart almost stopped when he had seen her on the floor, bleeding. Telling her this now…it wouldn't be fair. Not to her.

The problem with Scott was that he wouldn't understand. The problem with Lydia was that she would.

He couldn't tell Lydia.

And he sure couldn't tell Liam. He didn't deserve a burden like that, either, taking apart his innocence.

It wasn't until now that Stiles realized how badly he needed someone else to know. How badly he needed to not feel so utterly alone. But who could he go to? Scott, Liam, and Lydia had already been ruled out.

Stiles hardly knew Kira on a personal level, even with how long she'd been in the pack. As sweet as she was, the girl also seemed to be having some personal issues of her own at the moment. Almost killing people, turning electric and such. Besides, she was Scott's girlfriend. She'd spill everything. If not with her mouth then with her expressive fox eyes.

Then there was Malia. Of course Stiles loved her. She was...unique. Stiles frowned for a second at the word. She was definitely the most honest person he'd ever met which could be good or bad if he confided in her. But, if Stiles was truthful with himself, it almost felt like he wasn't as…close with her as he had during the Nogitsune period. Back then she had been exactly what he needed, and he was what she needed. Now it was as if they had both grown to a point where they didn't really need each other anymore. At least, not romantically. Stiles knew he would always love her, in whatever way it happened to be. But they hadn't had much opportunity to talk about things lately, and he didn't even know where she was right now, anyway.

Yeah. Their relationship was complicated.

Actually, now that Stiles thought about it, every relationship he had was complicated with everyone.

Moving down the list, he thought of Derek. Now Derek Hale was someone Stiles could confide in. He knew immediately that Derek wouldn't be one for sympathy so much as empathy. He would understand, but he wouldn't dwell on it as Lydia might. He would give Stiles what he needed to keep going. Derek could help Stiles without being weak or making Stiles seem weak.

It was too bad he couldn't get ahold of him.

No one had heard from Derek in forever. Really. The guy had disappeared off the map, and he wasn't answering phone calls or texts. Stiles had tried times before. Mostly to prank call, but he really did want to make sure the werewolf was okay. It had been crazy lately.

So, no Derek.

Who else was there? Who else knew him at all? Well, his dad, of course, but there was no way he could face his dad with this now. Stiles would get about a sentence in before breaking down with a panic attack.

A loud rumbling suddenly shook Stiles from his thoughts. He blinked in confusion at the steering wheel before noting that he was in his Jeep, and he had just turned on the ignition. Although he couldn't exactly recall getting here, Stiles just sighed in resignation, turned on the headlights, and backed out of the driveway, heading north.

He didn't consciously know where he was going, just that he had to go. Somewhere. It was the middle of the night still, but he had to do something. Like an itch that he really needed to scratch.

It had been more than 24 hours since the incident, and Stiles still felt numb. His body felt cold and aching like he had a fever. And even though he had been able to stop shaking for about thirty seconds, the sensation had returned.

And he also had never hung up after he called Lydia. He didn't even know if she had answered. And then of course he left the phone there on the floor without a way for anybody to contact him if they needed something.

Not the smartest move on his part, but he couldn't turn back now. Where he was going... It felt important. He had to do this.

It wasn't until he arrived at the hospital that Stiles realized where he longed to go so badly. Who he longed to see.

He couldn't even remember parking the Jeep or walking inside, just that when he saw her, his body didn't feel cold anymore. A comforting warmth filled him, and he proceeded toward her.

Her back was turned toward him as she bent over some papers at the front desk. Stiles coughed.

"Melissa?"

His voice broke a little.

Scott's mom turned around at an even pace, her eyebrows lifting slightly at the sight of Stiles. He wondered if he looked as bad as he felt right then.

Her eyes serious and solely focused on him, she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Stiles?"

It was as if she could sense all of the emotions he was holding back so weakly. As if she knew. The way Melissa looked at him was the same expression given after his mother died. When he had left the room full of pain, and she spoke his name gently, just as she had now, her hand warm on his shoulder and her eyes dark and intense and understanding. A lifeline to him while his father was absent from the scene.

Unable to really speak right then, Stiles said something safe. He whispered, "My right shoulder," even as he felt his face say more.

Melissa just nodded and led him toward an empty room without a word. Stiles just breathed.

00000

"This looks bad, Stiles."

He bit his lip and stared at the ceiling.

Stiles hadn't slept at all the night before, but he had but a bandage over the wound in his shoulder. He hadn't had a chance to really see it, though, with where its awkward placement and him being too immersed in thoughts to really care.

Melissa grabbed some bandages and antiseptic. "Well it looks too old to stitch up, and too inconsistent anyway, but I'll do what I can." She poured some hydrogen peroxide over his shoulder, making Stiles squeeze his eyes shut in pain. "When did this happen? I think you might be infected."

That brought his head up and eyes open. "What? What makes you say that?"

She finished taping gauze over it and lowered his shirt back down before stepping in front of him where he sat on a bed. "Stiles," she folded her arms with that "nurse" face on, "your shoulder looks like it got stabbed about 50 times. It didn't hit the bone, thank goodness, but it did cut through the muscle a bit. The skin surrounding the area is incredibly red, and it does not look like a clean wound. There isn't much else I can do at this point other than give you some medications for the pain and possible infection, but I want you to check it with me every day to make sure it doesn't get worse."

The calm, medical side of her softened, and she sat on the bed beside him. Stiles turned his gaze to the very interesting floor.

"Stiles. Look at me."

His lower lip began trembling again, his breaths shaky.

A hand touched his chin and guided it to the right where he met eyes with Melissa. He felt his eyes water with the stress, exhaustion, and multiple, overwhelming feelings which had been taking over his mind for some time now. Even before Donovan.

"Sweetie," Melissa said, their faces close, and her eyes bore into his with strength, "I know that what you kids go through every day is insane and impossible and terrifying. I can't even begin to imagine the weight you must feel." She put her hand on his leg and rubbed it soothingly. Stiles tightened his fists until his nails cut the skin.

A breath. "But Stiles, honey, there are going to be times where you think that you have to carry that weight alone. You'll feel like everything is your responsibility, your fault, and you might not want to keep going, or know how to keep going." She smiled at him softly with a tinge of sadness. "All you need to know is that you can. _You can keep going._ "

Stiles furrowed his brow as he stared at her, even when the tears began to fall from his eyes. He couldn't really even pinpoint a reason for crying at that moment. But he couldn't stop it at all.

What she said reminded him of Morrell. When you're going through Hell, keep going, she had told him. But how was he supposed to keep going? He didn't even know what had happened. He didn't even know what he did! How was he supposed to keep going? Panic swelled in his stomach.

 _All you need to know is that you can._

And just like that, Stiles could feel himself crack a little, and a sob escaped his lips. He launched himself into Melissa's ready arms, and she held him while he cried.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he whispered so his voice wouldn't break. "I don't even know what I'm doing."

When she responded, he could hear tears in her voice too. Although hers still sounded strong. "I know, sweetie. I know. And to tell you the truth, no one really does know what they are doing. Not ever. I know I don't."

Stiles squeezed her tighter, another tear slipping down his cheek as he said softly over her shoulder, "I did. I used to know exactly what I was doing. Now...I haven't got a clue." His eyes burned with exhaustion.

Melissa slowly pulled away from him, holding him at arm's length. "Stiles," she said, "whatever happened, whatever you did, don't think you are weak—because you aren't. You never have been. I saw you after your mother died, and do you remember what you did?"

Stiles shook his head. His brain couldn't even attempt to remember anything right now.

"You asked me if I was okay. _You_ asked _me_." She gave a small laugh before looking at him again. "Stiles, you are the most selfless person I've ever met. Your heart is good and pure, and I know that whatever happened was just you trying to be the best you could so as to help Scott or anyone else. Because that's what you have always done. No matter how much you've changed."

Stiles wasn't crying anymore. His eyes were dry, and he felt almost disconnected from the scene like he had before. He pulled away from Melissa and stood up, facing away from her, his face void of expression.

"I killed someone," he said, not looking at her. His voice didn't waver once. "I took a life, and I don't know what to do."

He closed his eyes and waited.

The silence swallowed them.

"Well?" Stiles turned around and faced her, but couldn't bring himself to really look at her. "Aren't you going to say something? Ask me how it happened, what I was thinking, what I'm doing right now, why I—"

"I am so sorry, Stiles." A whisper. A strong, slow whisper. "I am so sorry."

Stiles closed his eyes again, his body feeling cold once more. "Why aren't you asking me anything? Demanding to know everything? Don't you want to know why?"

He opened them and looked at her. She sat still on the bed. Her body tense but not defensive or angry-like at all. In fact, she was staring at him like he was the most incredulous thing she'd ever seen in her life.

"Because I already know," she replied softly.

Stiles blinked. "What?"

She almost smiled. "You forget that I've known you for about as long as you've been alive and that I'm a nurse. I can already see that you did what you had to, doubtably with intent, and likely justifiable. You look like you haven't slept in ages, you didn't really bother to get your injury checked, and I'm assuming you haven't told the police since you are here right now and I've heard nothing."

"Yeah, all the signs of the guilty."

"You'd be surprised at how similar the signs of the guilty and the innocent are."

Stiles sighed and sat back down on the bed. "I do know. I do understand. It's just—how can you say these things? Say that it's justifiable when I haven't even told you what happened? You don't even know. Not really."

She took his hand, but Stiles didn't respond or glance at her. "But I know you, Stiles. I know your heart." Melissa loosened her hold on Stiles' hand a bit. She didn't let go. "I wish you could see yourself as everyone else does."

"What, that I'm an obsessive mess of constant panic and paranoia?" Stiles snorted. "That I care way too much about things that don't even matter, and I care even more so about the things that do? That I try too hard in vain and am still weak and vulnerable compared to everyone else?" _That I happen to kill the people we are trying to save?_ Stiles thought painfully, remembering what Scott had told him earlier that night.

"That you're a hero."

He jerked his head toward her so fast, he was pretty sure he got whiplash.

"What?" He breathed out, his eyes wide. "What are you talking about?"

 _I'm not a hero, Dad._

Melissa smiled at him again. "You have saved my son more times than I know. You've saved Lydia and even Derek Hale and the rest of the pack with the way you can see patterns and understand things that most people don't. You are a _hero_ , Stiles. Without you, I don't know if anyone in the pack would have made it very far."

"Allison would have."

Now Melissa closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, they strong and full of fire. She grabbed both of his hands and stared directly into his soul. "Stiles, I'm going to tell you something. Something important. People will say it isn't true, but I'm going to tell you that it is. Now, do you trust me?"

Remembering the last time she'd asked that, when they'd been talking in a hospital room too, he offered a weak smile. "Not when you're holding a needle."

The corners of her lips twitched and she squeezed his hands. "The world sucks. And that is the simple truth. It does ridiculous things to you, good and bad and tragic things. You'll fall in love, you'll break up. An airplane will crash, a baby will be born. You'll save the world, someone will die." Stiles flinched, but Melissa continued. "Bad things happen. Everyday. Sometimes they just happen with no reason, sometimes it's because of something we did. Either way, the world sucks. It can suck the happiness right out of you, just as it can the sadness, if you allow it to happen."

Once again, Stiles stared at her in awe of her calmness, her wisdom.

"Because," she said, "as painful as it is, the world won't give you anything you can't handle. And that's how we move on. That's how we allow ourselves to heal and to live. That's how we keep going."

His voice was hoarse as he spoke after a moment of a peaceful quiet. "What about Scott? He'll never look at me the same way once he finds out what I did."

"If Scott loves you as much as I do, then he will come to understand. After all," her eyes filled with tears, "you're a hero to him too, Stiles. That, I know for sure."

Stiles couldn't even speak. Just like that? Was he okay now? The emotion was still there, but not quite as prominent. The pain wasn't demanding to be felt right then as it had been before. The guilt had lessened to a point where Stiles still wish he could have saved Donovan, but he didn't feel like there was really much else he could have done in the heat of the moment. Even after it had happened, Stiles had understood that it wasn't murder or anything, that he wasn't guilty of a crime. But that was the logical side of his thinking. What he felt about it went against logic and reason.

It hurt. More than he could even comprehend.

Now, at least, he didn't feel like he was about to break. He hadn't even told Melissa what happened exactly, but it was as if she already knew. She understood without actually understanding. Stiles blinked. Was it because she was a woman and a mother? Did she just know this kind of stuff? His mother had, Stiles remembered that much.

His mother.

That was the reason he had gone to Melissa as opposed to anyone else. He wasn't looking for anyone to tell him what he already knew. That it wasn't his fault—that it was self-defense, blah blah blah. He needed his mom. And right now, Melissa was just that. Not a replacement, no, but she was still his mother in so many ways. She had been for a while now. Stiles wasn't sure when exactly he looked to her as a mother, but it felt right, and he knew that his own mother would like that. She would like to know that Stiles hadn't really been left without that figure in his life to help him through the thick and thin. Yeah, Stiles thought, his mom would find that just right.

"Now," Melissa said, her voice disturbing his thoughts. "Now you are going to get some decent sleep." She was holding a needle in hand with her eyebrows raised. Still, Stiles could see the experience and tragedies she had personally faced right behind her smiling eyes. Now that, he thought, was one strong woman.

Stiles didn't even protest to the needle this time. Even with a weight lifted from his shoulders, he still was far too anxious to sleep, his mind scrambled. He laid down on the bed and attempted to relax.

"We will decide what to do tomorrow, together. Try and get some sleep," Melissa said softly, just as she had last time.

But Stiles didn't close his eyes. He forced them to stay open while the sleep tried to drag his mind under. He stared up at the brave woman above him. Maybe it was just the drugs, but she looked like an angel.

He swallowed. "Thanks, Mom."

This time he knew exactly what he was saying. And this time, he meant it for more than just the good night's sleep.

Perhaps he wasn't okay now, but he would be. Because it wasn't about what Stiles did at all, it was about what he was going to do.

He was going to keep going.

And, with a final deep breath, Stiles let the peaceful darkness pull him under.

 **A/N:** Whew! Sorry for the lack of Lydia as I alluded to last chapter. But this had to happen, I think. I love Mama McCall. Also, sorry for not having Scott in at all. I was writing an epilogue thing with Melissa talking to Scott afterwards about him needing to really listen to Stiles, but for some reason it kind of ruined anything I built up in this chapter, sadly. Hope you liked it! Review, please! Let me know what you think will actually happen in tonight's episode. Cause this won't be happening, pretty sure. Thanks, ya'll!

I hope you thought about crying. Or almost cried. Or actually cried, like I did.

Loves!

 **-Kenxi**


End file.
